White Knuckling It
by Moonshayde
Summary: It's not easy being a hunter, especially when it requires a 9 hour flight from hell. Missing scene for Season 6's Weekend at Bobby's.


A/N: My friend Meg wanted a fic about Sam and Dean taking the trip to Scotland to help save Bobby with certain prompts to be met. I hate when she does that. So I made some airlines up and went with it.

Disclaimer: _Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

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Dean tapped the steering wheel of the Impala as he stared into the brightly lit parking lot. Rows and rows of cars lined the lot, abandoned for God knew how long, as the roar of planes boomed above.

_Their owners are never coming back_ that little voice told him for the umpteenth time.

Doing this for Bobby. That's what he kept telling himself. Doing this all for Bobby.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam slammed the trunk closed.

"Everything's secure. You ready?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't move.

Sam came into focus as he leaned over the driver's side of the Impala and peered into the window. "It's a short trip. We'll be there and back."

"A short trip?" Dean turned to him, appalled. "Nine hours is a short trip?"

Sam straightened but didn't reply.

"I'm not an idiot. I looked it up."

As soon as Bobby had mentioned needing to burn the bones in Scotland and hadn't volunteered having a trustworthy contact over there, Dean had googled the hell out of flight times. No way in hell was Metallica going to last him a full nine hours.

"After all we've been through, you're still afraid of flying."

Dean scoffed. "Hey. I'm not afraid. But nine hours! And in case you forgot, every time I'm on a plane, it goes down."

"You know that Bobby isn't contacting Crowley until we get to the cemetery. Now quit stalling."

Sam flung the driver's side door open and motioned for Dean to get out. Dean grabbed the handle and slammed it back shut. No one was going to boss him around. He could do it himself.

Ignoring Sam's impatient glare, Dean took a deep breath and opened the door. After he locked her up, Dean followed Sam toward the airport.

Dean hated airports. They always smelled new and sterile, aside from the places that smelled like booze and sex. And it was never _good_ booze and sex.

He left the ticket buying to Sam while he scoped out the place. There was a happy couple necking in the ticket line. They wouldn't be so happy once they got on the flying death trap. Then there was the elder man behind them. Dude probably had better chances bungee jumping. And man, there were kids. Some lady had two of them, twins, over in the line diagonal from them.

Didn't any one enjoy the open road anymore?

"Here," Sam said, handing him a ticket. "I got us the fastest flight. They're boarding in ten minutes so we have to hurry."

Dean grabbed his ticket and trailed Sam as they headed toward their gate. Checking out the shops gave him enough distraction for now: magazine shops, little eateries, liquor store.

He swayed toward Steve's Spirits, when Sam grabbed his arm and gave a decisive shake of his head. "No time. Gate 12 is right here."

They headed toward Gate 12 and waited as the flight attendant started boarding. She was a pretty thing, though Dean swore he wasn't looking, and reminded him of one of the actresses from the Bollywood flicks he'd been subjected to from Lisa's artsy-fartsy cousin.

In fact, a ton of these people looked like the cast of a Bollywood film.

He glanced down at his ticket.

The ticket said Indi-Air.

"Whoa, wait," he said, grabbing Sam's shoulder. "I thought we were going to Scotland?"

"Technically, the U.K. and yes. Indi-Air has a layover in Heathrow."

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. Asia was way, way farther, but he couldn't say he was overly pleased about any of this.

The two of them waited for their turn and boarded the plane. They were stuck behind some old lady that wouldn't get the lead out for anything in the world, and the longer they were mulling behind her, the louder the random plane noises became.

"Is it supposed to do that?"

"It's normal. You should know that by now."

"Yeah, whatever."

Sam and Dean darted out of the way of a young boy who flew past them. As they started to slow to check for their seats, Sam called over his shoulder, "Did you tell Lisa?"

Dean eyed Sam. "What? What was I supposed to say? Hi, honey, shooting off to Scotland to burn some bones? Come on."

A man gave them an odd look before he hurried away.

"Hmm. What'd she say?"

"Dinner'll be ready when we get back."

Sam nodded, but didn't comment. He just gestured to his side. "Want the window seat?"

Dean glared at him.

Sam shrugged and squeezed inside. Sometimes Dean felt his brother was like a clown getting in and out of a clown car. Dean chuckled. Clowns. He told him so.

As usual, Sam didn't really react. Talk about a letdown.

With a sigh, Dean collapsed into his seat and took a quick inventory of the plane. Instructions in case of a crash? Check. Light over his head? Check. Seatbelt? Check. Puke bags? Check. Unable to see out the window because of Sam's big head? Check.

"Are you done inspecting, Clouseau?

"Shut up."

He double checked and then triple checked everything again. That ate up a good five minutes.

Dean didn't have time to search for a new distraction. The people piling into the plane were starting to ease off to a trickle. That's when he noticed it. Most of the people, if not all, were Indian.

Dean leaned over and in a hushed voice whispered, "We're the cream filling in a hostess cupcake!"

"Why does that bother you? It never did before."

"It doesn't bother me. It's just we stick out like Mickey Mouse in a porn shop."

Sam jerked and made a face. "That's really not something I wanted to think about."

"I'm just saying we stand out."

"Dean, it's no big deal. Why are you so self-conscious? At least there isn't a demon on this flight."

"You just had to jinx it, didn't you?" He shrunk down lower into his seat. "Why can't Bobby have a crisis in the States? No, he has to go global."

Sam folded his hands in his lap and leaned over, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. "I know what this is. You don't want to stand out when you end up having a meltdown once the plane starts."

"I'm not going to have a meltdown." Dean glanced over to the pocket in front of Sam's knees and grabbed the barf bag, before turning to his right and eyeing the seat of the woman who was sitting there. "Hey, you gonna use that?"

She frowned but gave him the bag. Dean added it to his collection as he started to snag more. Sam didn't comment, but kept shaking his head the whole time.

It wasn't long before everyone was seated and the pilot was making announcements in a voice way more cheerful than normal. Dean made sure he was secure in his seat, and when the flight attendant started her schpeal about safety precautions, he hung on every word. One couldn't be too careful.

When she was finished and took a seat, he stared at the no seatbelt sign that flashed at the front of the plane for a few minutes. Beneath him, Dean could feel the plane start to move. He thought maybe he made a whimpering sound, but he was going to just convince himself he'd done it in his head.

"Dean."

"Shh." He closed his eyes and grabbed onto the arms of his seat. He hummed a few songs to help him get by and when he exhausted that, he sent a little mental prayer to Castiel that he'd better make sure the plane stayed in the air or else he and Sam would come haunt his ass in Heaven. By the time he was finished, he realized Sam was shaking his shoulder.

"What? I'm concentrating."

"We're in the air, you know," Sam said. "And the flight attendant has been asking you for several minutes what you want to eat."

"Food?" He looked over to the tray in the aisle and caught a whiff of curry.

His stomach did a sudden somersault. Oh no.

Dean fumbled for the nearest bag and said goodbye to that bagel he'd had earlier. And the candy bar. And whatever the hell else that was.

Sam winced. "Nevermind," he told the flight attendant. "We're not hungry."

Dean slumped in his seat and played with the plastic utensils that the flight attendant had left behind. He stopped on the fork, pausing to test to the sharpness of the edges. Beside him, Sam raised his eyebrows, but Dean just ignored him. He needed to have something. He felt so naked without his gun.

The rest of the flight proved to be more of the same. Sam had offered to buy him a drink, but he'd refused. Big Shot was already enjoying this way too much. No way was he going to get the last laugh. Dean could make it through sober.

He closed his eyes for a while and thought about Lisa and Ben, the open road, home, and sometimes of the way things used to be. The way Sam used to be. Again, he felt Sam shaking him.

"We're here, and you survived. Coming back should be a piece of a cake."

Dean moaned at the thought of cake and grabbed his last puke bag.

Doing this for Bobby. Doing this all for Bobby.

And it was worth every moment.


End file.
